The Rat and the Serpent Read Online Free PDF Page B

me...
    Musseler took a flask from his hip, opening the top and sniffing. A bitter odour filled the air, yet it was not unpleasant. “This we call coffee,” he said, pouring a tot each into our empty goblets. “It will keep you alert through the night. We drink it without milk.”
    The rest of the night we spent refining our skills. As dawn approached we parted, returning to our various alleys, Musseler entering the Tower of the Dessicators with the equipment and slamming the door shut.
    Two nights followed, both spent with Musseler, before we were deemed fit to go out alone. I had predicted the arrival of this moment and I was not looking forward to it. Atavalens would seize the opportunity to consolidate his leadership. Raknia and I exchanged glances as from the top of the steps Musseler wished us good luck.
    We set out along Vezirhani Street, north past the Forum of Constantine, until we reached our designated area. Though Atavalens dictated what each of us should do, he showed no vitriol, as if he was too intent on learning what had to be learned; and he ignored me as if I did not exist. For my part, I watched them all. The henchmen never let Atavalens out of their sight. The two women had formed a friendship of sorts. Raknia was silent, observing everything with the deep and intricate manner that she showed in times of difficulty.
    That night I returned to Blackguards’ Passage to find a collection of pale objects in the doorway where I slept.
    Rat skulls.
    I knew their form in an instant. I stood shocked. The skulls were new, each laid an exact distance from the edge of the door as if to indicate the deliberation with which they had been placed.
    It must be the work of Atavalens.
    Weeping, I took the skulls and walked down the passage, passing through a crevice hardly wider than my own body that led to a miniature courtyard between two great towers. Here, rubbish was left by the occupants. Rats were not uncommon. With the tears leaving pale streaks down my begrimed face, I dropped the skulls into a drain, listening to the knocks and clacks as they fell into the dry tunnel below. Then I departed.
    I felt no anger, only disgust. Something inside me too deep for understanding negated the possibility of revenge. Bringing rat skulls was the act of a child, nothing more—a child in man’s clothing.
    I said nothing next night, biding my time in silence as I had for most of my life; waiting, watching, learning both the principles of dessication and the ways of my colleagues, until the collection of knowledge in my memory was itself a comfort against the ignominy I suffered.
    When I returned to my doorstep next dawn the two henchmen were waiting for me. They lurked in shadows, and I did not notice them until it was too late. I jumped back a pace when they appeared.
    “Wait,” said Yabghu, “we’re not here to harm you. In fact, the reverse.”
    “Indeed,” Uchagru added, picking something up from the doorstep. “We did wrong yesterday. We’re here to apologise. Everybody’s going through a difficult time at the moment, worrying about the apprenticeship, the test and all, and... well, we don’t need to say it out loud.”
    Yabghu shrugged, then took me by the shoulders and briefly hugged me. “Sorry,” he said.
    I was suspicious. “What’s that?” I asked Uchagru, pointing to the pot that the henchman carried.
    “Oh, a present. We noticed you didn’t get much of the food today. Here. Something to say sorry.”
    I took the pot and pulled off the lid, whereupon my nose was assailed by the rich scent of a meat soup, heavily spiced. I began to salivate.
    “Have that on us,” said Yabghu, waving at the pot. “We’ve all had some. It’s delicious.”
    I took the spoon from the pot and tasted the soup. It was good. “Thank you,” I said. “For my part, I don’t want any trouble. I’m in apprenticeship to become a citidenizen, not to fight anybody.”
    “Well said,” Yabghu replied, nodding.
    They watched